


On the Tip of My Tongue

by Sorenello



Series: Taciturnity [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, Divorce, High school bullying, Infidelity, M/M, Multi, Supernatural AU - Freeform, Teen Angst, mute!Dean, selective mutism, self-disgust
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-17
Updated: 2015-05-14
Packaged: 2018-03-13 09:27:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3376430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sorenello/pseuds/Sorenello
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This will be a collection of timestamps for my mute!Dean verse. Please read Of Course before these, because they're all related to basic information given there. They won't necessarily be in order, but I will post the timeline as I add more chapters.</p><p>Chapter One - Pauciloquy: Cas misses Dean. (July after Cas's graduation).<br/>Chapter Two - Papacy: Dean gives his history presentation. (March of Dean's sophomore/Cas's senior year).<br/>Chapter Three - Potamology: There's a new kid in Dean's homeroom. (Cas's first day).<br/>Chapter Four - Paedotrophy: John is a liar. (Dean is 11, Sam almost 7).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pauciloquy

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah. You guys probably won't like this one. Not because I think I wrote shit, but because of the feels. My deepest apologies.

Castiel looked again at his shopping list.

“I have a shower caddy, towels... do you think I actually need shower shoes or is that a scare tactic? Dean?” He looked up from the abused notebook page to catch the tail-end of a shrug, Dean's face not even turning away from the shower curtain he was fiddling with. Castiel frowned.

It hadn't been a dramatic change, the return to silence. Slowly, though, Dean had stopped screaming at the screen when he and Charlie played Mario Kart until he actually stopped playing altogether. There were fewer loud guffaws from a full mouth at the lunch table until the week before graduation, when Cas realized they'd been reduced to a twitch of lips. And although Cas's best friend privileges had included a free pass into Dean's room for months, the older boy had recently found the door being closed behind his friend as they attempted an awkward conversation in the hallway; one thin hand was always on the knob, always ready to bolt back in when they'd finished.

Mary told him to not take it personally when Dean ran immediately upstairs when they got back to the Winchester-plus-Cas home. She was covered fingertip to elbow in flour making something Cas wasn't paying much attention to.

“He's going to miss you.” Castiel's face whipped from the dough to Mary's, still concentrated on her work. “He won't ever say it -,” she scoffed “I swear that's the John in him - but he will just the same.”

An irritation he hadn't felt since his first day in Lawrence welled up. Castiel felt a longing for his best friend that made no logical sense when the boy was upstairs. He wanted to tell her that her son would never miss him the way he already missed Dean. Weeks of near silence later and _Dean_ would miss _Cas_?

Not trusting himself to speak, Castiel bit his lip and picked his plastic bags off the floor. Mary stopped rolling the dough, brow furrowed. “Not staying for dinner tonight?”

The graduate shook his head, and even though he had never had reason to lie to her, continued, “I haven't started packing,” yes you have, “and Chuck will probably be home, I wanted to spend some time with him,” he's teaching until nine, “Three weeks, you know.” He did his best to put as much sincerity into his smile as he could.

Despite the respect he had for Mary Winchester, seeing her looking at him with what he assumed was pity was too much. Cas turned toward the hall as her hand stroked his cheek. He walked out the door and down the porch stairs and didn't allow himself to let his thoughts settle. Cas passed his house, doubled back and passed it again.

Throwing his bags near the pile of neatly packed dorm boxes, Castiel grabbed his laptop. Staring at the black loading screen, he noticed a smudge of flour on his cheek and thought of how apt Dean's explanation was.

Castiel couldn't tell what the snake was doing, either.


	2. Papacy

“I'll tell you what, Winchester,” Ms. Talbot said as she ruffled the pages of her grade book, “If you can give one presentation – just one simple report – verbally, I will pass you with a C for the year. That is if you present _well._ ” She stared at him with raised brows.

 

That would mean not having to come back to this room. He wouldn't have to try and explain that no, he didn't hate his teacher, but she knew exactly which buttons he didn't want pushed. Dean nodded with as much enthusiasm as he could fake. Talbot pursed her lips and turned back to her laptop.

 

“All right. The Papal Schism? Didn't take you for the religious type, Dean, but the topic will do. The written paper is due next Tuesday, you'll present Wednesday.”

 

Dean turned before he rolled his eyes. She would put him down for the first day of presentations. It was typical. He told Castiel as much as the senior lounged on Dean's bed that afternoon.

 

“You did rather well with your English project last semester. I believe you will do just as well in this.” The ice in his stomach was replaced with a warmth at his best friend's unwavering belief in him. Cas was entirely too focused on his Statistics homework to notice the gentle smile. Dean spun around in the desk chair until he was facing the computer screen.

 

“Maybe? The topic is hilarious – I mean, trying to settle a fight between two guys by hiring a third guy?”

 

“I don't think that's how the schism worked, Dean.”

 

The sophomore shrugged. “Whatever. I'm not gonna write it like that. But the topic isn't the issue, it's Talbot. That whole friggin classroom just... I don't know, Cas. I don't think this is going to be as easy as last time.”

 

Castiel didn't always understand why something shut Dean down, but he understood Dean himself enough to adapt. The first time Cas took Dean to a party (New Year's, not that the senior was very interested in going), Cas had taken his friend outside to just watch snow fall. They missed the ball dropping, but counted down with the voices coming through the window. Despite the fact that just minutes before he had felt his stomach turn to ice and a wriggling in his chest – and they had forgotten to grab jackets on their way out – Dean felt okay just then.

 

Moments like that had been happening since. Somehow Castiel would pick up on a clue Dean didn't even know he was giving and would drag him off to a corner or his room or once to an entirely different county just to make him okay. And when Ms. Robinson assigned a verbal presentation in English, Cas had let him practice. First it was just to Cas, then to Cas, Sam, and Mary, then to Cas, Sam, Mary, Charlie, Gilda, and Kevin until the idea of talking at a crowd didn't send the snake rocketing to Dean's throat and Cas could almost recite his presentation verbatim.

 

To be fair, Castiel tried. From Monday to Friday they tried to practice to the same people, but somehow Dean couldn't visualize anything but Bela Talbot's bored expression and it was over. The sophomore flopped onto his bed after another failed practice run, worming his way between Charlie's leg and Cas's side like they could warm the egg up from the outside. Mary patted his leg and went downstairs to make dinner, and Dean was grateful that at least he wasn't the only one with no answers.

 

The next morning Dean was woken up at seven for what he hoped was a good reason. He had to clear his throat twice before he could croak out a groggy, “What?”

 

“I have an idea!”

 

Dean rubbed his eyes. “Charlie, I swear this better be a cure for cancer or something because it is balls o'clock -.”

 

“Sun's up, bitch, and I have a way for you to cheat Talbot's system.” The teen blinked his confusion. “You can commence singing my praises any time, Dean.”

 

Dean sighed. “I'm listening.”

 

* * *

 

The following Wednesday dawned without much ado. The icy egg was all Dean had to handle until he walked into Talbot's room and felt like he could crawl out of his skin. But he had a project, and he could do this. Maybe.

 

“Do you think she'll count off if I puke all over the floor?”

 

Gilda was the only one he shared a class with, and judging by her Charlie-esque expression, she had no desire to honor that with a response.

 

Ms. Talbot walked in before Dean could open his mouth again, taking an agonizing several minutes to situate herself at a desk in the back.

 

“All right, let's get to it. Any volunteers?” Seeing no hands, Dean rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “No?” _Great, wonder what's gonna happen next._ “Dean, how about you?” _There it is_.

 

Dean gave her a sardonic smile and went to the front of the room, gathering entirely blank notecards from his desk. He went to the front desk that held the laptop connected to the projector. His project was already loaded, and he pushed play.

 

A moment went by over a black screen before the first image was displayed on the whiteboard.

 

 

 

Dean heard the tinny recording of his own voice coming out of the laptop speakers.

 

“ _The Western or Papal Schism was a division of the Catholic church that began near the end of the 14 th Century.”_

 

“Dean, what is this?” Talbot did not look amused.

 

“ _Ms. Talbot, I'm sure you're wondering what precisely is happening.”_ Dean smirked and quirked an eyebrow at her. _“and I would like to remind you that your only requirement was that I give the presentation verbally. Which I am.”_

 

The sophomore stood to the side as the video played through, mostly ignoring the class until he noticed a few smirks and a thumbs-up from a scrawny kid – Garth? - who spent most of the presentation giggling at Dean's image choices. When the final screen finished, Dean reached to flip the light switch back on and faced his classmates. Staring straight at his blank-faced teacher, he asked, “So. Any questions?”

 

And Bela Talbot, stone-cold History teacher, smirked back and huffed a laugh.

 

“Fine, then. You get your A, Winchester. Now sit down.”

 

Dean's grin didn't dim through the rest of the class.

 

 

 

 


	3. Potamology

Today was a rough day.

 

Dean had gotten out of bed with a cold weight in his stomach. His mom had given him about a dozen looks over their cereal breakfast but, knowing by now how her teenager operated, had allowed the silence. Sam kept up his usual chatter on the short drive to his building. Dean thought he'd fooled his younger brother until scrawny arms wrapped around his neck before almost falling out of the Impala.

 

Kid was going to outgrow the damn car one day.

 

So today was not the day Dean wanted a new kid – a new dark-haired, hard-eyed, _hot_ kid – to overlook two perfectly fine seats and settle on the desk next to him.

 

The sophomore tried focusing on his sketching, pushing his pencil into the lined paper to make a never-ending stairway of squares. The ink was turning from blue to black, Dean pushing a little harder every time his eyes wandered.

 

_Are you seriously staring right now? Don't be that kid, god, are you kidding me? What are you gonna do, you can't even –._

 

He caught a glimpse of the way his fingers looked curled around the hardback cover when the boy slammed it shut. Dean looked up to find that the kid's eyes were blue. Probably a little plain, normally, but something behind them made them appear brighter than any eyes Dean had ever seen.

 

“Do I have something on my face or are you just trying to be a dick?”

 

Oh. Anger. That's what made his eyes bright.

 

Meg Masters snorted at them, rolling her eyes and turning to whisper, “Never changes,” to whoever was listening. Dean sat up straighter, hoping his spine would give his mouth the memo that he was confident, he could defend himself, he could....

 

Totally not say anything.

 

Dean felt his mouth twist, and while he had made a small amount of peace with his involuntary silence, he hated himself now. The darker-haired boy huffed and shook his head, picking up his book and giving off a very clear “done with you” vibe.

 

Dean picked up his pen, flicking his thumb under the clip. He tried to force a noise through his mouth – literally anything – just to get the boy's attention again because he _needed_ him to understand that he wasn't an ass. All that came out were little huffs and the whistle of air through uncooperative vocal cords. The new kid inhaled through his nose and moved to face Dean again just as Ms. Talbot walked back in to send him out.

 

“Way to go, Freckles.” Lilith was smirking next to Meg when he looked up. “How long did it take you to perfect your fish impression?” She opened her mouth wide and closed it over and over, raising her eyebrows as Meg laughed.

 

Dean stabbed the pen back into his notebook until the bell rang.

 

 


	4. Paedotrophy

Mary kept the envelope tucked into her purse as she left for her midnight shift at the hospital.

 

After watching the boys, she knew trying to hide it anywhere in the house would never end well.

 

_I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to...._

 

She made her rounds with the same smile on her face. It was nothing less than genuine for the patients on the obstetrics floor. There was joy here, and far be it from her to inflict her pain onto their moments.

 

_I messed up with you three. I failed you, but I can try_ ....

 

Mary skipped her break, choosing instead to eat what Dean had thoughtfully packed her as she filed paperwork at the nurse's station. There were enough babies to be fed and rocked and loved on after that, enough diapers to be changed and parents to be reassured that she couldn't think of the one – .

 

_I can't leave. Not again. Please – don't ask me to...._

 

The drive home at 3am took her past the Roadhouse. On a Sunday morning, the lights were still on for Ellen to clean Saturday night off the floors. Mary couldn't even fault her own selfishness as she pulled into the gravel lot.

 

_There's a lot that I regret in my life. I can't keep doing that to any of you...._

 

Wood grain rubbed smooth by years of patrons finally brought the tears to her eyes. How many times had they been here together? They'd celebrated both their babies here. Might have conceived one of them here. Ellen looked up from the dust mop at Mary's watery huff of laughter. The wood of the handle made a sharp sound against the plank floor, and Mary winced into the shoulder of the older woman. 

 

_I'm going to be a father again, Mary. I'm going to do this right this time._

 

Mary wasn't one to sob. Her breathing was labored but steady, and hot tears smeared across her cheekbones in what she was sure was a black river. Ellen's strong arms tightened around her, and Mary thanked the angels for bringing her this sister who knew the healing power of silence.

 

_She's due in September. She needs me, and I know well enough that you're too strong for that._

 

For all the times that “liar” had crossed her mind, she never felt it more strongly than she did reading the words, _“Love, John”_ wrapped around divorce papers.

 

 

 


End file.
